The Scottish Banker of Surabaya - By Ian Hamilton Page 0,103

unrealistic to think they’d even consider handing over thirty million dollars without some kind of committee getting involved and without their doing due diligence on us and on our information.”

“Are you concerned about the quality of the information?”

“No, not in the least.”

“Then it comes down to credibility and to trust.”

“I know.”

He put the beer bottle to his mouth, paused, and then set it down. He reached across the table and placed his hand on hers. “The only way I think this could work is if you have one person you really trust, and you deal only with that person, and you deal with him completely anonymously and isolated from everyone else. He has to be your shield. Do you know any Mountie you would trust that much?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is he a senior officer?”

“No, so we have to assume he has the ability to get the right people to listen to him.”

“And is that likely?”

“I think so.”

“Still, you would need to be very careful about how you approach him and what you say to him initially. You could not tell him the entire truth, of course, and you would need to rely on him to parse it with regard to his superiors. At the start he would need to feel them out to see if a deal would even be contemplated. So no names at that point, just a sort of general outline, but with enough bait to see if they are willing to be enticed.”

“Uncle, I’d rather do the parsing myself until the level of interest can be gauged. I mean, I think I do trust this man, but I still need to confirm just how much.”

“That is wise.”

“One step at a time, eh? That’s what you taught me.”

He sat back, his eyes raised towards the ceiling. Ava thought she saw tears in them, and turned away. “How soon do you think you can contact him?” he asked.

“It’s Sunday morning where he is and he won’t be at work, but I have his private number. I’ll call him when I get back to the hotel. But, Uncle, I’m still nervous about this. You’re right when you say we need maximum distance between the information and ourselves . . . And you know, an idea just came to me that might help us achieve that,” she said. “Tell me, could we open a numbered bank account with our friends at the Kowloon Light and Power Bank?”

“Of course.”

“But could we open one that wasn’t impossible to trace? One that anyone with any savvy could find their way into and locate the real account holder?”

“Why would we do that?”

“I would want the name Andy Cameron attached to the account.”

“The banker who is dead?”

“Yes.”

Uncle smiled. “Yes, I think the Kowloon bank could arrange all that.”

“Well, I think we’ve just acquired a new client.”

( 38 )

They left the restaurant without paying for their meal. The owner had refused to give a bill to Uncle, and after a few minutes of protest, Uncle thanked him and left an HK$200 tip.

The streets had calmed down. It was getting too late for families and it was still too early for most of the nightclubs and karaoke bars to open. They walked downhill towards the Mandarin, Uncle’s arm again looped through Ava’s. They had gone only about half the distance when he stopped and took a deep breath. She looked at him and saw that he was pale. As she started to say something he lurched towards the street, stopped at the curb, and bent over. Ava reached out to give him support, but he threw one arm back as if to fend her off. Then he coughed, took a couple of rapid breaths, and threw up on the road. Ava watched in horror, not sure what to do, not sure if there was anything she could do. After several heaves his stomach began to empty, and though his body still racked, he had nothing left to throw up.

Ava went over to him again. She looked down at the mess on the pavement and saw streaks of red.

He slowly raised himself, wiping at his mouth with his jacket sleeve. Ava grasped his arm and squeezed as reassuringly as she could. Uncle shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. “I cannot handle some kinds of food anymore,” he said.

There was a 7-Eleven two doors from where they stood. “Wait here,” Ava said. She bought a bottle of water and a sleeve of tissues. When she came back, Uncle